Seven Sins

By Miguel Estrada

If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.

 

Several individuals connected through unfortunate circumstances find themselves as participants in a twisted game of trials set up by a hacker who has chosen them based on their cardinal sins.

 

This group of misfits will do anything in their power to survive and return any semblance of normality to their lives, even if it means destroying each other.

 

Seven Sins is an action-packed, thrilling horror that will have you on edge in every page. Grab it now to see who will survive the night.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Miguel Estrada
• Release date: Oct 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393633938

Book preview

Seven Sins

Copyright © 2020 Miguel Estrada.

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

WARNING: This book contains scenes of violence and disturbing themes. Please enjoy at your own discretion.

Table of contents

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Greed

Gluttony

Wrath

Pride

Sloth

Lust

Greed

Sloth

Pride

Greed

Lust

Pride

Gluttony

Lust

Sloth

Gluttony

Wrath

Pride

Wrath

Sloth

Gluttony

Pride

Lust

Sloth

Pride

Wrath

Greed

Gluttony

Lust

Sloth

Pride

Gluttony

Wrath

Greed

Lust

Sloth

Envy

Lust

Greed

Sloth

Lust

Sloth

Greed

Sloth

Lust

Sloth

Lust

Sloth

Final

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Greed

The house Roger was looking for stood at the end of a blind street, away from all the others, which meant that the job should be easier. Roger reached into the pockets of his jacket to put on his gloves. He raised the black hoodie over his head while taking one last glance over his shoulder before continuing. The faint orange glow of the lampposts illuminated the way. The neighborhood was desolated. The only sound to be heard from miles was the bare tree branches hissing with the wind.

Roger eyed his watch. It was 11:32 p.m. The inhabitants of the house should be boarding their flight right now. Roger had studied them carefully. While the family of four lived humbly, they had inherited a fortune in collectibles they still kept in the house. By the time they returned from their vacation, Roger would have sold everything.

The main entrance’s lock was standard, nothing but a small inconvenience for someone with a little talent and the right tools. Entering a house was not the challenge; it had never been for him. The burglary business was a very lucrative one and one in which Roger had become very efficient at. The problem was another.

The dog.

An eighty-pound, black pit bull had been left behind as the guardian of the house—a dragon protecting its treasure, as some may say. Roger had taken that into consideration and came prepared. A slice of raw meat with sleeping pills should do the trick. If it didn’t, then he’d have to improvise, and improvising wasn’t his forte.

Roger sighed. He had heard how vicious that breed could be. While there were people who argued that pit bulls were no different than any other dog breeds regarding aggressiveness or jaw strength, it wasn’t something that Roger was eager to find out.

He stood just a few feet away from the residence. As if summoned, the dog promptly started barking from behind the wooden fence, loud and raspy. Definitely not the warning kind of bark.

Roger slipped the slice of raw steak out of his jacket and threw it over the fence. The barking ceased. He approached on the tip of his toes, leaning closer and peeping through the cracks of the fence. The dog seemed to be enjoying the meal.

With no more time to spare, Roger circled the house and waited for a minute or two. The cold air of the night was welcoming, and Roger had learned to associate it with a job well done. To think how much he would make from one score made him crack a smile. Eager, he jumped over the fence and strode to the back door. His lock-picking skills were no match for an ordinary kitchen door. 

Once inside, Roger found himself embraced by the darkness of the residence. Leaving the dog behind made him feel safer, as he could finally breathe easy, if only for a second, before continuing with his mission. He pulled out his flashlight and scanned the place. The kitchen seemed conventional, if not a bit dull, not the kind of place where they’d keep the valuables. The collection would probably be in the attic or in the basement. Perhaps, it was locked inside a safe. Piece of cake.

Roger crept to the living room, internalizing everything around him. The Devil’s in the details, as his father used to say. However, Roger’s father probably never imagined that his son would follow his advice in this manner. Robbing houses wasn’t something he was exactly proud of, but it brought bread to the table.

What would my old man think if he saw me like this? Given the circumstances, I think he’d understand. At least, I hope so.

Roger shook those thoughts out of his head and decided to focus on his task. Worrying about the opinion of someone who had been dead for over fifteen years wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

One of the doors to his right stood ajar. He pushed it gently, the hinges squeaking. At his feet, a set of stairs led down. Maybe it was better to check the basement first and go up from there. Roger marched down, his footsteps echoing in the dark. A spectral figure in the corner of his eye made him stop dead in his tracks. He felt his heart skip a beat as he pointed the flashlight toward the shadow.

It was a coat hanging from the wall. 

Roger let out a sigh of relief. He had never been the scaredy-cat type. If he were, he wouldn't be having a hard time in the business of barging into empty houses in the middle of the night. Still, there wasn’t such a thing as being too careful.

Roger inspected every nook and cranny of the large basement. It took way longer than he’d expected, but just when he was about to call it a day, he noticed a segment of bricks in the wall that was a little less moldy than the others around it.

Bingo.

He inserted his fingers between the fissures of the bricks. He placed the flashlight on his mouth as he groped his belt to get a couple of tools. With a screwdriver serving as a makeshift lever, he pulled out several bricks, revealing a safe hidden inside the wall. However, this one was different than the ones he was used to cracking. Usually, he could easily outwit the safes where he could rotate the numbers. But this was digital, with a keypad and a screen that illuminated faint, green numbers.

Great, now I need to figure out the password. This is going to be a pain in the ass.

Roger shrugged. The job was only going to take a little longer than expected, that's all. He could inspect the rest of the house for clues. From experience, he knew that most people’s passwords were hidden in plain sight. Only a keen eye and a bit of brainpower were needed—a birthday marked on the calendar, an anniversary, a phone number. However, before he could even begin his search, a chilling noise, like that of claws scraping through wood accompanied by an ominous growl, made the hairs of his body stand on end.

Roger stayed put for a second, trying to figure out what the hell had happened. He was sure the dog had eaten the meat. 

He swallowed dry, scanning the place for something to defend himself, a bat or a golf club, anything. He didn't like the idea of having to hurt a dog, but if his other option was to be bitten by jaws as strong as those of a shark, then he had no choice. Roger wished with all his might that what he read on the Internet about pit bulls wasn’t true.

A silvery hint of light blinked from the corner of his eye. He turned to see an aluminum bat leaning against the brick wall on the other side of the room. A glint of hope grew inside him. Roger lunged toward the bat and grabbed it like his life depended on it. With his heart in his throat, Roger climbed back up the stairs.

The only thing he could hear besides his own breathing was the ticking of a clock somewhere. A maddening sound that had him clenching his jaw. Then subtle growl from right behind him.

Roger spun around, hoping to find the pit bull that had given him the not-so-pleasant welcome. To his surprise, it was a Rottweiler displaying a row of white fangs and a thread of saliva that reached the ground.

What’s wrong with these people? Don’t they have two children?

Before he could follow his train of thought, the dog charged at full speed toward him. His idea was to throw the dog a swing, but instead, he instinctively raised the bat to his face horizontally. The Rottweiler jumped, opening its jaws in the air.

The dog’s fangs bit the body of the bat, trying desperately to dig into the metal. Roger’s back slammed against the ground. The man and the beast struggled as the animal’s saliva soaked Roger’s face. The dog’s eyes were burning with hatred. Despite the Rottweiler’s incredible strength, Roger managed to place his feet on the dog’s ribs and kick it back.

The dog let out a howl when it hit the wall. Roger sprang up in less than a second and dashed toward the house entrance, pushing the door open with all the weight of his body. The pit bull slept peacefully in the courtyard next to the piece of meat that had only a couple of bites left to finish. Roger climbed the fence with a single jump and fell on the other side. The tearing sound and Roger’s pant showed that the Rottweiler’s teeth had scraped over his leg, almost biting him.

The dog repeatedly jumped, trying to poke his head over the fence while barking his lungs out. Roger shook off his clothes and hurried back to where he had come from.

I’m sorry, ma. I let you down . . .

Gluttony

Matthew let the cold water run between his fingers, carrying the soft layer of soap on his skin. He then grabbed the knife on the counter and began cutting the vegetables with expertise. Cooking was his passion; it always had been. Even now, after arriving from a long day’s work, the only thing that relaxed him was to put on his apron and prepare the meals for the week. Matt grabbed the veggies and skimmed them with the knife toward the pan. The hissing sound of oil drew a smile on his face.

His reflection in the knife made him pause a moment. It had always seemed somewhat poetic to see himself on the edge of the metal. His other self returned his gaze, calm as the sea, with a familiar beard and a completely bald head. His face, even when he was stern, seemed upbeat and welcoming. The irony was not lost on him.

The doorbell pulled him out of his trance. Who could it be at this hour? Matthew wiped his hands and walked in long strides to the entrance. He peeked through the door’s magic eye. A big-nosed lady who couldn’t be taller than 5’2" stood patiently at the other side.

Of course, it’s Regina, who else could’ve been?

Matt took a deep breath, changed the cold expression on his face to a friendlier one, and opened the door.

Hey, Regina! How is it going?

Matty! The lady beamed. How are you, my darling? I hope I’m not interrupting anything.

Actually . . .

Before she could proceed, the tiny lady stepped in and entered the residence, her fly eyes scanning everything around her. I’ve been waiting for you all day. I didn’t know you’d leave the hospital so late.

Actually, I offered to stay a little longer. I didn’t want to deal with anyone else today.

Oh, that’s so kind of you, Mrs. Regina said. Always giving to people who need it. The world should be full of men like you, Matty, definitely. Today I was thinking about that, how there can be people like you who give and give and ask for nothing in return. So I decided to bring this to you. The lady reached into her massive purse, which was almost the size of her whole torso, and pulled out a circular package covered in aluminum. Considering the shape and the smell, it was definitively one of her homemade cakes. It's an old family recipe.

The lady circled Matt and walked straight to the kitchen. Matthew’s heart skipped a beat. He jumped toward the fridge and leaned against it. Regina's head jerked back in surprise.

Excuse me, Mrs. Regina, said Matt. It’s just that I haven’t cleaned the fridge in a while. It’s a mess, and I’d hate it if you see it like that.

The lady cocked an eyebrow, but then shrugged. Well, no problem, honey. I'll leave it here. Regina placed the cake on the dining room bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. What are you cooking? Lamb? It smells delicious.

Uh, yes, lamb.

Well, I’ll leave you alone then. Sorry if I bothered you.

Oh, no, not at all, Mrs. Regina. Excuse me. You just caught me off guard. Had I known you were coming, I would’ve cleaned and made dinner sooner.

She smiled. I’ll call next time, dear. Ciao ciao.

The tiny woman left and disappeared into the night. Matt let out a sigh as he locked the door. He went back to the kitchen and opened the fridge, immensely relieved to have arrived on time before his nosy neighbor had a chance to see inside.

Wrapped in plastic was a severed human hand, still fresh, with contorted fingers toward the center as if trying to make a fist. Matthew was thankful for putting it in the fridge to defrost it instead of leaving it in the sink.

It was a close call.

Matthew took the severed hand, put it on the table, and continued to prepare his plate. It was going to be exquisite.

Wrath

Trevor took the last sip of his bourbon. The bar’s music was eclipsed by other customers’ conversations around him and the game playing on the television. The world had begun to spin five glasses ago, but the pain had not dimmed in the slightest. It never did. It was only when his body couldn’t even stand anymore that Trevor knew something similar to peace, and he still had a few more drinks to get to that point.

Johnny! he called. Another! Straight-up!

The bartender approached, looked at Trevor from top to bottom, and shrugged. Trevor watched as the liquid filled the glass and wished the glasses were larger. The sounds around them began to disappear, to blur into each other until they were nothing more than background noise. Suddenly, the laughter of a girl in his ears made him relax, all the muscles in his body released tension as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The hairs on his right arm bristled, a current of electricity running through his skin, simulating the delicate touch of a woman. Trevor looked down but saw nothing, no one at his side. Neither the girl nor the woman.

The screeching of some wheels on the pavement brought him out of his trance. Trevor jumped up, his lost gaze circling around him. His eyes went to the window behind him. Through the neon lights, he could make out the street outside. There was no car.

Inside the bar, however, there were several people whose conversations had stopped dead. Everybody was staring at him. Trevor felt the blood rise to his cheeks. A familiar warmth passed through his chest, like a flame inside him.

The fuck are ya’ll looking at? he barked before taking a seat again and finishing the drink. Another!

This time, the bartender shot him a glance and looked elsewhere. That son of a bitch was ignoring him. An asshole sitting next to Trevor muttered something under his breath.

What the fuck did you say, bitch? Trevor challenged. He wasn’t going to take anyone’s shit. Say it to my face.

The asshole, who was six foot five, turned over his shoulder with irritating serenity.

I said that you should shut your mouth, said the giant as he stood up.

Trevor didn’t feel intimidated in the slightest. He was used to sweeping the floor with people of that caliber, huge gorillas who believed they could walk over others because of their size. If there was something he had learned while in the army, it was that size did not mean much, especially if they were on the other side of a gun. Everyone had the same weaknesses, and they bled the same way.

You have balls, big guy, Trevor said, stepping forward. I can make you eat them for lunch.

Johnny now focused his attention on Trevor; he had left the area behind the bar and put a hand on Trevor’s shoulder. Hey, T, leave it. It is not worth making a scene.

I’m not making a scene, Trevor shot, his eyes piercing the bartender’s skull. This wannabe princess is the one making a fuss.

The giant threw a punch in his direction. Trevor received the hit straight to the chin. A red thread made an arc in the air from his upper lip to the ground while his neck turned sharply. Trevor barely managed to keep his balance. A throbbing pain embraced the left side of his face. He cracked his knuckles and wiped his lip with his forearm.

The giant in front of him stood tall like a building. He looked surprised as if he couldn’t believe that Trevor had withstood such a blow. But the former soldier had endured much worse.

You call that a swing, princess? Trevor mocked.

There were laughs. A group of spectators around him